Ten Star Clues Read Online Free

had always been understood that she and Ralph were to marry. It was, in a way, her right. That absurd sex disability whereby she was barred from her natural right of succession might have had some sense in it in days when occasionally rights had to be defended by the use of lance and battle axe. Not that Anne didn’t feel perfectly capable of wielding axe and lance herself, if necessary. But in settled days of law and order, this sex disability business was a ridiculous and disgusting anachronism. Had she been the grand-daughter of an American millionaire instead of an English peer of ancient lineage, sex would not have mattered in the least. Her rights would not have been affected in any way by the totally irrelevant detail that she generally wore skirts and not trousers. True, the American millionaire could leave his money as he liked and the English peer had no say in the matter, all that being regulated by the entail. But Anne felt as fully competent to deal with supposititious American millionaires as with equally supposititious battle axes. She would have liked to see any old millionaire grandfather disinheriting her, just as she would have liked a chance to wave a battle axe in the thickest of the fray. So the engagement to Ralph, heir to title and estates by the mere accident of having been born to trousers and not skirts, had always been regarded as no more than her right, the simple compensation due to her. Turning the ring round and round, she thought:—
    â€œArthur’s awfully rich. Money matters to-day. If you’ve money you’ve everything. Ralph wouldn’t have a farthing, if he wasn’t heir, and he has no profession except managing the estates. I wonder if Arthur would give him a job—five or ten pounds a week perhaps. What’s the good of that?”
    â€œYou both look a bit down,” Arthur said. He helped himself to another cake. “I can remember Bertram,” he said. “I was here when we heard of his death. Cheek for this bloke to turn up now and claim to be him. Clinton Wells has seen him, hasn’t he?”
    â€œYes. He told me there was nothing in it,” Ralph answered.
    â€œWell, he’s a lawyer and he ought to know,” Arthur remarked.
    â€œOh, the fellow’s an impostor all right,” declared Ralph. “He’s managed to get hold of poor old Bertram’s papers— stole them after Bertram died most likely. Now he has his tale pat, but there are all kinds of things he ought to know that he hasn’t any idea of. You could see it. When he got here he was gaping all round, like one of the Saturday shillingers. He wasn’t remembering familiar things, he was noticing and trying to remember new ones. Bertram wasn’t bad at cricket. The first century he made in anything like a good match was for Wych and District against an M.C.C. team. No chap ever forgets his first century in a good match. Couldn’t if he tried,” pronounced Ralph, who himself bowled a good fast ball and was a fair, if somewhat impetuous, batsman, generally good for runs if he didn’t get out in the first over. “But this fellow hadn’t a notion what I was talking about when I tried him with it.”
    â€œWonder why he has waited so long?” Arthur mused, half to himself. “If he managed to get hold of Bertram’s papers after his death, that’s all of ten years ago, isn’t it?”
    â€œTo explain why he has forgotten such a lot,” Ralph suggested.
    â€œYes, there’s that,” agreed Arthur. “Handy excuse. Or he may have been screwing up his courage.”
    â€œGrand-dad ought to send for the police,” Anne interposed sharply. “I can’t think why he doesn’t. Perhaps he has,” she added hopefully, “and they’re just waiting for the police to get here.”
    â€œWell, about that,” Arthur pointed out, helping himself to more cake, “I don’t